Cursed Hebenon (Formerly Strange Magic)
by DistanceMaster
Summary: When Harry was eight, Fester Addams found him. He is quickly brought into the Addams Family and adopted. He stays hidden until he is seventeen, when the Wizarding World suddenly comes knocking. How will he adapt to the world that expects so much of him? Will he do as expected, rebel, or cause all sorts of havoc with his collection of cleavers? Future slash, mpreg. Pairing undecided
1. Chapter 1

Plot: When Harry was eight, Fester Addams found him abandoned. He is quickly brought into the Addams Family and adopted. He stays hidden until he is seventeen, when the Wizarding World suddenly comes knocking. How will he adapt to the world that expects so much of him? Will he do as expected, rebel, or cause all sorts of havoc with his collection of cleavers?

Chapter 1: The Little Boy

Fester Addams never left the family estate at 0001 Cemetery Lane. He had learned his father's lessons well and he took them to heart. His father taught him that he wasn't supposed to meet people from beyond the house and wouldn't let him touch a battle axe -a favorite toy of every child in the Addams family- until he was eight. Even after his beloved father finally joined their ancestors in the graveyard, he had followed all of his rules.

Well, most of the time.

This night was just such a night. He had left their family home to visit a distant relative, a cousin who had been lost in the Siberian wilderness for years until he was found stranded on an iceberg near the North Pole. The old man had always loved cold weather. Strangely, his dear cousin had refused to return to the States. He'd moved to England for some reason that Fester could not fathom. Sure, the history of crime and punishment was fascinating and Morticia often told the children stories about the many decapitations that the English had preformed. His cousin, however, hadn't moved to an area where beheadings were common and Iron Maidens were rare.

His dear cousin had moved to this boring and bright neighborhood with colorful flowerbeds and pruned gardens. The streets were all clean and the sidewalks swept. There wasn't a bat or a raven in sight. Nothing dreadful about it and Fester hated it.

_At least there is a nice full moon to enjoy_, he thought as he snuggled down in his heavy robe and cowl. _It's always so relaxing, although nothing can truly beat my screw press or the rack. Too bad Cousin Muerto got rid of his._

With the heavy sigh, he glanced around him at the silent houses and shuddered. So peculiar. He didn't understand how anyone could live here. They must be so unhappy. Who would willingly remove the weeds from their yards? Such beautiful thorns and thick bark.

Suddenly, something caught his attention. It was hidden in the shadows, crouched along a garden wall. It was hunched over, tiny hands gripping its knees. The dark hair that was set upon its head was thick and unruly, just like Morticia'a favorite crawling poison ivy. Heavy despair washed off the tiny body like smoke from Gomez's cigars or his sister's brew.

A shiver ran up his spine. The amount of misery and darkness was just riveting. This being –as it a changeling or a dryad perhaps- was full of despair, but he didn't see a torture device in sight. No swords or whips or anything of the sort. What then caused this despair?

He cackled in delight. Perhaps the creature had something disastrous hidden on it!

The creature looked up and another shiver ran through him. The creature wasn't a creature at all, but a boy! A haunt, bloodied, and bruised little boy.

_How precious_, he thought with a smile. _But those rags won't do. Not a piece of heavy velvet or wool in sight in. Not nearly dreary enough and all too revealing._

He frowned as the boy noticed him and began to slink away, pulling further and further into the shadows. The green eyes were luminescent in the dark, glowing like a cat's, but narrowed with suspicion. The curled fingers brushed against the sidewalk as the child backed away.

"Wait!" he cried, taking a step towards the terrified child.

The boy paused and his eyes widened, fixing Fester with a wary stare.

"What is you name?" he asked. "You look like a lovely, dark boy. Please, tell me your name."

The boy seemed to curl in one himself, bunching his shoulders and pulling his head down into his thin body. As a cold wind blew by, the gaunt body shivered and quaked.

Fester's frown returned and grew heavy, concerned. He had thought the boy was like an Addams, ordinary in this strange and peculiar world. Now, he was not so sure. The boy surely had an inner darkness that he could sense, the electricity raging through his body with each moment that he was in the boy's presence, but there was something more. This kind of hurt was the one that he would never inflict upon his own family, certainly not one so young a boy. Wednesday couldn't be more than a year or two older.

"What is your name?" he repeated, kneeling down to the boy's height.

"I- I don't know," the raspy voice replied, high and cracking.

"You don't have a name?" Fester asked. "Well that is peculiar. Even my great-uncle had one, a beautiful one to be sure: Noname."

The boy's mouth jerked a little, but it quickly retreated back into the firm line it had been in before.

"Well," Fester continued, "Where do you live?"

The boy crept forward slowly, crawling on his hands and knees to the corner of the brick wall. He glanced around the edge to focus his green eyes far down the street on one of the many white houses. Raising a skinny finger, he pointed to the home of a most egregious family or so his cousin told Fester.

The husband was a hulk of a man, but nothing like Lurch's strong physique. He worked for a nearby company, selling drills. The very idea made Fester growl. Why sell them and not use them? The wife looked quite like a horse, thin and narrow of face. She stayed a home, but spent all of her day staring over the fence at the neighbors. Then there was the son. A monster he was, playing without the right equipment. As far as Muerto knew, he didn't have a blade or whip in his possession, yet all of his friends came back with bruises and cuts.

"Ah, you live with them. Tell me, does your cousin have many toys?" he asked.

The boy nodded slowly, frowning.

"Like Pears of Anguish, coffins and whips?" Fester asked, becoming excited once again.

"W-well," the boy replied, "They don't have any coffins and only the Lady likes pears, but-" Gulping and his eyes watering, the boy murmured, "-Sir likes the w-whips."

"Oh, wonderful!"

Eyes widening in terror, the boy scurried away, his worn shoes scraping on the concrete. Fester watched as the boy scrambled to his feet only to fall a moment later, his legs unable to support him. His head slammed against the concrete, cracking loudly as his forehead hit the ground.

Rushing after the boy, Fester crouched down beside him, examining the thin boy's body. Through the rips in his clothes, he could see several bleeding wounds and large bruises, which were already changing to a dark shade of purple. Older wounds and scars, those that were healed and halfway healed, adorned the boy's back and arms. His legs were largely untouched, but they were thin and stick-like. Dried blood was caked in his black hair. More blood trickled from between his closed lips, pooling on the concrete.

_What a strange boy_, Fester thought as he reached under the boy's body and lifted him up into his arms, _And such a darkness in him. It's intoxicating. He'll be an absolute killer when he is older. Murderous intentions are usually so hard to detect in a child so young, but his future is so clear. I have to tell Gomez and Morticia. They would take away my stocks (1) if I didn't. _

Straightening, he shuffled down the street towards his cousin's house, only the moon lighting his way. His natural electrical current had disrupted the streetlamps upon arrival. The additional energy surely made him feel closer to death than usual. How exciting.

When the boy awoke, he was confused. As his eyes fluttered open, he found himself staring at a white ceiling, but this one was not slanted like the ceiling of his cupboard. It was flat and free of cobwebs and stains from chemical fumes. Furrowing his eyebrows, he tipped his head slightly. The walls were white and unadorned, although heavy curtains hung in front of the window, blocking out any potential sunlight. He was lying in a four-poster bed that was made of dark wood with gray coverings. His thin hands were set atop a heavy quilt made of various furs stitched together by hand with some sort of sinewy thread. A single door led out to what he assumed was a hallway.

His chest was wrapped in bandages and a once-wet towel had been left on his forehead. All of his wounds had been attended to.

Slowly, he sat up on his elbows and blinked a few times. A single candle was lit on the bedside table, casting shadows across the room. He glanced over at the burning wick, fixing his green gaze on the small flame. With a quick glance around, he pushed himself up onto his knees and crawled towards it, hunkering down to stare up at the flickering flare from below.

As he stared, a small smile flitted across his face, his mouth morphing into a wicked smirk. Unbeknownst to him, his teeth became long and pointed, morphing into a full set of fangs. His fingernails grew out, sharp and dangerous. The dark hair turned to an even darker shade, as black as black could be, so gloomy a shade that it was soaked up any color thrown from the other objects around the room.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door and the boy jerked back, nearly falling out of the bed. The door opened and the strange man he'd met earlier stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. The boy's eyes widened as he once again took in the appearance of Fester Addams. To most, he would have been a horror, but the boy found his heavy clothing and bald head to be quite endearing. He was tempted to steal the man's cloak and wrap himself in it.

"Ah, you're awake!" he cackled happily as he stepped over to the bed.

The boy tipped his head to the side, fixing the man with a quizzical stare, which the man returned in full.

"It was hard for us to patch you up. I never have been good with healing poultices and things. I always made them so strong that the wounds just grow," the man continued.

"W-w-wh-why-"

"Never ask me why. Such a useless word," the man laughed, waving his hand dramatically, "But I suppose I should explain. You interest me. You're exactly like an Addams, but I have never heard of there being a relative such as yourself. So dark and menacing for someone so small and young; its wonderful!"

The boy straightened where he sat, his eyebrows furrowing further. He clasped his hands on top of his thighs, his legs tucked under his body. It would have been so uncomfortable for anyone else, but the boy had become used to the position and he preferred it above all other ways of sitting.

"You see, my name is Fester Addams. My family and I are from the US, although we do still have several cousins living in ancient castles and caves throughout Europe. Quite romantic, if you ask me. Anyway, I just had to get to know you. So few people are like us, even if we are so normal, but then you hit your head there and passed out so I brought you here."

"Here?" the boy asked.

"My cousin Muerto's house. He lives just a few blocks over from where your family does," Fester said.

"F-family? I don't have a family," the boy replied.

"No family? But my cousin said that you lived with that family, the Dursleys," Fester said.

"T-they're not my family. I work for Sir and the Lady. Dudley is their only son," the boy murmured.

"Why that's horrible!" Fester cried. "You have no family at all?"

The boy shook his head. "Sir said they abandoned me on their step when I was a baby."

Fester jerked back, his mouth setting into a firm line of concern. "What kind of family were you part of? No Addams would leave their family behind like that, certainly not with such strange and peculiar people as the Dursleys."

With a sigh, the boy nodded in agreement. He had seen how families acted and the Dursleys, despite raising him, certainly didn't consider him a part of it. Families took care of each other and accepted each other. The Dursleys did neither of those things with him.

"I must speak with Morticia about this," Fester murmured to himself before he scurried away.

The boy remained where he was, considering his current position as he waited for the strange man to return. The Dursleys had kicked him out into the back garden the night before, calling him freak and monster and all sorts of things. He didn't mind the name-calling, but the slices, cuts, and welts hurt in a way that he did mind. They did not inflict his wounds in good fun as he sometimes did to himself. They did it to make him like them, to rid him of the "evil" they proclaimed him to bear.

Sighing, he lay down on the hard bed and resumed staring at the ceiling once again. His internal clock told him that it must be at least one or two in the afternoon, far too bright for his pale skin. The Dursleys will be angry with him for making their breakfast, lunch or whatever else.

Great.

"What do you mean, Fester? He has no family?" the delightful voice at the other end of the line asked.

"None at all," Fester replied, shaking his head vigorously. "The people that look after him don't seem to appreciate the boy either. It's a wonder how he came to be with them. From what he said, it seems that someone dropped him off on the doorstep and left him there."

There was a pause at the other end of the line as she thought.

"Hm, that is peculiar. Clearly the family has no pride," she said.

"Clearly or they may be all dead."

"Wonderful," she replied with enthusiasm, her voice rising a little as she spoke. "I must come at once."

"You really want to come all this way, Morticia?" Fester asked.

On the other end of the line, Morticia held the phone delicately in one hand, her other crossed over her chest and settled carefully on her opposite bicep. Her long, sharp fingernails glittered as brightly as her blue eyes. Her pale skin was as supple as ever, her beautiful eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she thought about the future.

Morticia was never one for fortune telling, having always despised the practice. Her dear mother had always loved to tell the fortune of any passersby who were also winning to pay. It was so becoming of someone of their kind and after Morticia had married, clearly unbecoming of an Addams. This one time, however, she was quite willing to indulge in her hidden abilities, those that not even Grandmama was aware of.

Even from hundreds of miles away, Morticia could see some of the young boy's future. He was dark in his heart deepest of hearts and would thoroughly enjoy everything that being a member of the Addams family could give him. He could play with all of the knives, bats, and dunking stools he desired. He and Pugsley could destroy trains together, dodging Wednesday's guillotines and flying knives. Fencing would be an everyday lesson. The boy would be the perfect Addams son.

Moticia had even planned his first toy. She had made it especially for him with the help of her children and Thing, who was always willing to give a hand. It was a flail, complete with a heavy chain made of the thickest steel and a ball with over forty spikes. It was perfect.

The only trouble was going to be that horridly strange Dursley family, but Morticia was never unprepared.

"I will be on the first plane to London tonight, Fester. I want to meet this boy you've found. He sounds like a wonderful addition for the family."

The boy awoke the next morning to a most beautiful woman by his bedside. She was tall and lean, gently seated upon the wooden chair with her hands placed gracefully in her lap. Her long hair, black, thick, and straight, fell easily over his shoulders, blending perfectly into the equally dark shade of her figure-hugging dress. Her lips were morphed into a most fascinating smile, one that spelled out pure and unadulterated mischief. The blue eyes were fixed on him, unwavering as a light as the pale, unblemished skin of her face.

"Hello, darling," she cooed as he sat up and stared at her. "I hope the bed was comfortable enough for you. It seems that Cousin Muerto has taken to sleeping on this spring mattress. Terribly uncomfortable, I would believe."

The boy stared opened mouthed at the woman before him, unsure of what to say. He knew that he had never met this woman before, but there was a familiar quality to her. She emanated a dark aura, the kind that seeps into the walls and the floors and refuses to leave. Slowly, he placed his hand above his head, pressing down in an attempt to ease the slowing of his heartbeat down to a less-than-normal level.

"My name is Morticia Addams. I believe that you have met my Uncle Fester," she continued, a knowing glint in her eyes.

"O-Oh, yeah," the boy replied bashfully, ducking his head a little. "He was the one who brought me here."

"How lovely. Oh, pardon me darling, but have you eaten yet? Fester is usually so affectionate and loving with children, but sometimes things just slip away from him occasionally," she murmured.

The boy nodded vigorously and his lips perked up into a small smile, closed-mouth smile. "He did. He said it was alligator and brought it to me on a tray and everything. I've never seen that before."

"I hope he decorated it for you," Morticia added.

"W-with a bat that he said he brought with him from Guatemala."

"Perfect, but you are still a growing boy. I am sure that you would like some more. I can fetch it for you."

The boy's eyes widened and he furiously shook his head, his hands gripping the fur quilt tightly. Morticia frowned in concern as she reached out with a pale, clawed hand to touch the boy's face. He stilled instantly, his body jerking as Morticia touched her soft, unspoiled fingers to his face.

"Oh my darling, I am sorry," she breathed.

"F-f-for what?" the boy asked, raising his bright green eyes to her for a moment, his body still shivering.

Sighing deeply, she traced her fingers across his cheek, following the curve of the bruise from his latest beating, behind his ear, and up to his hair. Dragging her hand through it, she examined the thickness and the length. It was wild, but still as tamable as Cleopatra. Slowly, she began to move her hand down his face, pausing at his forehead. Sweeping the dark bangs to one side, she examined the scar on his forehead, her eyes narrowing.

"You don't need to fear me, darling. I won't hurt you."

"You won't?" the boy asked.

"No. I do not hurt my own children, although your new siblings might," Morticia laughed.

"Children? Siblings?" the boy murmured, eyes wide with confusion.

"I want to take you home to where you belong. I want to adopt you. You will become an Addams," Morticia explained, gently taking the boy's hand.

She squeezed it ever so slightly and, after a moment of hesitation, he squeezed back. Smiling, she lifted the tiny hand clasped in hers and placed a gentle kiss along the back of the knuckles. Glancing up, her blue eyes met the boy's impossibly green gaze and she took in the look on his face. His eyes were soft and the muscles in his face were relaxed, smoothing away any lines of worry or stress. There was a slight turn to his head, his chin lowered just so that he had to look up at her. The corners of his lips were turned up so slightly.

He had copied her signature look already. Gomez was going to love him.

"Perfect."

Less than 24 hours later, the paperwork was signed and Morticia, Uncle Fester, and the boy were on their way home. After a bit of persuasion on Morticia's part, the Dursley family had willingly signed over their guardianship of the boy before quickly tossing him and all of his belongings (which wasn't much) out onto the street. Uncle Fester had huffed about their lack of manners, but Morticia just smiled indulgently at him.

She, after all, was focused on the boy. After she had met him the morning before, she had spent a little bit more time peering into his future. She dared not look too far ahead, but she did a little investigating regardless.

The boy would blossom into quite a heartbreaker. Not only would he become one of the prettiest members of the family, but dissecting hearts would be a favorite hobby of his. With his knobby knees and gaunt form, he would always be thin and small, but Morticia was not concerned. She did not look so far ahead to see who her newest son would marry, but she automatically knew that whoever he was, he would certainly be taller. Perhaps he would be physically stronger, but no one could defeat her youngest magically. He was darker than dark, after all.

Lurch picked them up at the airport at six o'clock sharp. Morticia had insisted on a night flight for her and her returning family. It was always more comforting to be surrounded in shadows whenever flying. The boy seemed to enjoy it as well and when he met Lurch, he was unaffected by the sheer size of the giant butler. When Morticia introduced them, a most amusing thing happened in fact. The boy shook Lurch's hand and bowed with such precise movements that Morticia was nearly surprised.

_Ah yes_, Morticia thought as their 1933 Packard, a family relic that once belonged to Great Aunt Disastria Addams, turned onto Cemetery Lane. She glanced over at the boy sitting between her and Uncle Fester, his thick hair whipping around in the wind. He was staring straight ahead, his eyes fixed on the looming form of the Addams family estate in the distance. _He will get along marvelously._

The gate swung open as they approached, latching shut only when the Packard came to a stop in the driveway. Lurch was the first to exit the vehicle, opening the rear driver's side door for Morticia with a low groan and no flair.

"Why thank you Lurch," she cooed as she climbed out of the car.

Taking a few small steps along the gravel drive, she turned to watch the boy clamber out behind her, gaze drawn upwards to stare at the belfry that rose high above them. Morticia clasped her hands together and sighed happily inwardly as she watched the boy's fascinated stare. Reaching out, she took his hand and led him towards the house, his small stride nearly matching hers.

"Now darling, this will be your new home. I hope that you will come to love it as much as the rest of the family does. It has been the residence of the Addams family for many generations, purchased originally by Gomez's great-great-great grandfather when he first came to the United States from Spain. It certainly has not lost any of its charm, wouldn't you agree?" Morticia asked.

"It's beautiful," the boy murmured as Morticia took him up the steps and onto the front porch.

Before she could reply, the front door burst open and a shout of "Cara mía" erupted from the open doorway. Morticia was quickly swept into a hug from behind as the embracing figure fervently kissed at her shoulders and arms. She didn't let go of the boy's hand.

"Ah, Querida, I have missed you so," Gomez Addams cried as he lavished his beloved wife with attention and kisses.

"And I have missed you as well, darling, but," she quickly brushed his face and searching mouth from her right shoulder with a flick of her clawed fingers, "We have more pressing matters."

"Ah yes!" Gomez shouted as he swung around to Morticia's other side, taking in the appearance of the boy clutching her hand.

Kneeling down, he squatted in front of the small boy, a smoking cigar set between his teeth. He grinned at the boy and nodded once, his lips curling up and over his teeth.

Standing, he proclaimed, "He's perfect, Cara Mía! Where ever did Uncle Fester find him?"

"Living near Cousin Muerte," Fester replied from the bottom of the steps.

"Isn't he delightful, Gomez," Morticia cooed as she ushered the boy into the house.

The boy glanced around him at his surroudings, his mouth cringing into a small smile as he took in the entrance hall. It was dark and morbid, battle axes and a large painting of the death of Lord Nelson at the Battle of Trafalgar adorning the wallpapered walls. A few lights adorned the four corners of the entrance hall, all shaped like wilting flowers. The floor below his feet was stained a deep color of muddy brown, a single Persian rug filling the center of the hallway. An ornate, French-style table stood in the middle of the room, a black vase filled with the stems of cut roses atop it. The boy decided, even without seeing the rest of the house, that he loved it.

Squeezing the boy's hand, Morticia tore his attention away from the decor and led him into the parlor, knowing that the little boy would find it even more fascinating than the entrance hall. She was right, of course. As soon as he entered the room, he stared with pure delight at the bear rug, the tank of piranhas that stood in the corner, and the various other pieces in the room. The two-headed turtle seemed to be a favorite of his.

"Take a seat, Darling," Morticia said softly as she stepped over to her favorite chair, a whicker armchair adorned with a single small black pillow.

"Wednesday! Pugsley!" Gomez shouted up the stairwell. "Come down here, children."

The boy carefully took a seat on the single couch, a small loveseat decorated in a design of dead leaves and bats, his gaze still moving around the room. Gomez stood just behind him, hands stuffed in the pockets of his smoking jacket and a new cigar fit in his mouth. Fester stood beside Morticia, grinning widely as the sound of explosions rocked the house.

Jerking, the boy stared up at the floor above him as the house around them rocked and swayed from the waves of sound and energy. He glanced back at Morticia, who smiled indulgently.

"Is my new grandson here yet?" Grandmama called as she sauntered into the room, her white hair wilder than normal and sticking up around her like a halo.

"Mama, what happened to your hair?" Morticia asked.

"Stuck my finger in a socket," the old crone cackled. "It was quite exhilarating."

Turning, she fixed her gaze on the boy sitting on the couch. With a toothy grin, she nearly skipped over to him with excitement and took both of his hands in hers. Taking the seat beside his, she stared deep into his green eyes, taking in the pale skin, the dark hair, and the black aura that surrounded him.

"You are quite the beauty, aren't you?" she asked. "You will give my dear cousin Jeers a run for his money. He's a model you know? Always posing for pictures in his favorite leather outfits. Quite a catch."

Suddenly, the sound of pounding feet filled the air and the family looked up to see their two older children come tearing down the stairs. Wednesday came first, her pale face frozen in a look of disinterest, although her rapid step told her family otherwise. Her twin braids flew around her as she tore around the corner of the stair landing, Pugsley's round form not far behind her. The two children stopped at the bottom of the stairs, taking in their new brother.

"He looks nearly dead," Wednesday said with no emotion.

"Perfect, isn't he?" Morticia asked.

"Quite," Wednesday replied, stepping over to the couch.

She stood in front of the younger boy, staring down at him. He met her gaze without fear, only interest. Reaching into her pocket, Wednesday pulled out her favorite bottle of poison and uncorked it. Taking a sniff, she nodded and held it out to the younger boy.

"Try it," she ordered.

Gomez and Morticia exchanged a look as the young boy took the bottle from the girl. Without hesitation, he took a swig and swallowed. Smacking his lips, he smiled sweetly and turned his head in that indulgent twist that he had picked up the day before from Morticia. Handing the poison back to Wednesday, he licked a single remaining drop from his lips.

"It's tasty," he said, his voice smooth for the first time since he'd come into contact with the Addams Family. The burning sensation had healed whatever had been giving him trouble in his throat.

"He's already an Addams, though and through," Gomez cackled, the smoke of his cigar rising around him like a forming cloud.

"What are we going to call you?" Pugsley asked, speaking for the first time.

"Yes, what is your name?" Wednesday asked, her emotionless voice filled with a hint of excitement.

The boy blushed a little and Wednesday grimaced. She would work on fixing that. The rosy color that came over his pale face was most unbecoming.

"I don't have a name," the boy replied.

"Well that just won't do," Grandmama whistled, shaking her head. "You need a proper Addams name. Something with distinction and filled with pride. A boy such as yourself needs a glorious name."

"The Dursleys used to call me Boy or Freak," the child offered.

"No, no," Morticia cried. "We would never call you the same thing as that horrid family. Besides, we already have a Freak in the family. She's the most precious little thing. You need a new name."

"Capitol, my dear," Gomez cried happily.

"Shall we consult the Addams Family book?" Grandmama offered. "Your name was a family name Morticia, named for the founder of the Frump family line, and Wednesday was named for a distant relative of yours wasn't she, Gomez?"

"Right you are, Mama," Morticia giggled calmly. "Darling, to become a true Addams, we will give a purely Addams name! Gomez, would you please go get the Addams Family Tree, please?"

The boy nodded in agreement as the patriarch of the family rushed out, eager to do as his wife commanded. He wasn't picky and he quite liked several of their names. Morticia, Wednesday, Pugsley, Lurch… they all sounded so beautiful to him. They were like nothing he'd ever heard before. Everyone he'd met had been named something so boring, like Petunia or Vernon or Michael. There was no excitement in their names.

Gomez returned with a heafty book under one arm. It was made of leather and bound with a chain and lock. Across the front in large gold letters were written the words: The Addams Family History. Easily unlocking the chain with a twist of her fingernail, Morticia pulled the book open with caution. Suddenly, the book jumped in her hands in an effort to escape, but she held onto it gently, forcing it to stay still as she began turning the pages.

"Vlad Addams? No, not bloody enough. Mordred Addams? No, there was another Mordred two generations ago. Misery? No, too ordinary. Caladium, Elapid, Asphodel-"

"-No no my dear. I think we need something with more strength, more character. After all, he just drank the poison that even gave Wednesday a stomach ache and doesn't seem to be having any problems," Gomez interrupted.

Morticia twitched her mouth back and forth for a moment, flipping rapidly through several more pages in the book. Finally, she found the page she desired and scanned one red nail along the paper.

"Darling," she said softly. "I have it."

Leaning over, Gomez read the name she was pointing to and grinned. "Capitol, cara mía. You always know just the thing."

Morticia nodded in agreement as she looked over at the newest addition to her family. The boy was smiling viciously, proud of his new name and family. He sat up straight in his seat, hands resting gracefully in his lap. He looked every bit an Addams.

referencing the medieval punishment device of course.

H.H. Holmes was a serial killer who set up his three-story home as a ver intricate system of tunnels, hallways, and rooms used for torture and experiments. He was convicted of four murders (but confessed to killing more than 27 others) before he was hanged in 1896.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Wow, this story had a lot more favorites and reviews than I was anticipating for an Addams Family crossover. I'm glad to see that people like it. Don't worry, there will be more dark/sadistic moments within the family. I just had to establish "Harry"s part in the family. This will be a mix between the original 1964 TV show and the movies from the 1990's. For instance, Wednesday will be much more sadistic and unemotional, which the original Wednesday was not. However, my Morticia will be much closer to the Carolyn Jones and original version. REMEMBER: READ, REVIEW, REPEAT! **

**ALSO: I will soon start a poll for the main pairing between Harry/Male. You can start placing votes soon.**

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Chapter 2: Nine Years Later

The screaming that filled the room soothed him greatly and HE sighed happily, his green eyes closed. He found himself relaxing even further, HIS shoulders loosening and HIS hands resting peacefully atop the opposite arm. All of the blood was rushing to HIS head and it felt wonderful.

"Hey, how is it up there?" Wednesday called from below.

Opening HIS eyes, HE looked down at her and smiled wickedly. She stood more than ten feet below HIS head, her hand clasped around a hacksaw that was dripping blood. She has grown up to be quite a fetching lady, her twin braids growing ever longer and thicker. HE remembered when she had dressed up as Pocahontas that one summer at Camp Chippewa. She resembled the famed Indian maiden even more so now, apart from the deathly pale skin of course. In bodily appearance, she looked quite a bit like Gomez, thicker through the shoulders and well built, but still slim. Her legs were very long and spider-like, but that was one of those things HE loved about her. Their family had always loved arachnids.

Turning HIS head to look up, HE stared at HIS shoe-clad feet. A thick chain was wrapped around HIS legs, holding them together tightly as it dangled HIM from a beam high up at the top of the belfry three stories above HIM.

"It's so comfortable up here," HE replied. "How goes the torture?"

"Dreadfully easy. They're hardly trying," Wednesday snorted.

"That's the problem with beheading dolls. They may bleed, but they never fight back. Well, except for Lady Mayhem, but that's only because Grandmama brought her to life," HE said.

"Yes, who knew that poisons could be so invigorating for inanimate objects," Wednesday muttered, fingering her hacksaw.

Suddenly, the sound of a gong ran throughout the house, making the walls shutter and the antique china rattle. Both of them looked towards the door and Wednesday threw away her hacksaw, racing out the door and down the stairs towards dinner. With a sigh, HE pulled himself up and began untangling HIMSELF from HIS chairs, slipping easily to the floor with little problem.

_As much as I love my family, I could have used more time upside down_, HE thought as HE casually strolled down towards the first floor of the house. _It really eases away the stress._

Stepping into the dining room, HE took in HIS assembled family. Gomez - HIS father - sat at the head of the table and smoking as usual. He was dressed in his favorite velvet smoking jacket, the Addams family crest adorning the lapel. HIS mother, Morticia, sat across from him, exuding the dark beauty that she had always possessed. Her arms were crossed over her chest in their usual position. Wednesday, Uncle Fester, and Pugsley sat together on the far side of the table with Grandmama and an empty chair for HIM on the near side.

Gracefully, HE slid into his chair without a word as Lurch silently entered with their dinner. HIS green eyes watched the butler as he set a plate in front of each of them. Stuffed Tasmanian devil with hemlock sauce and root of angel's trumpet: Wednesday's favorite, of course. It was too toxic to be otherwise.

"How was your day, darlings?" Morticia asked as they picked up their utensils and began to eat.

"Perfectly dreadful," Wednesday said, cutting easily into her steak with the serrated ten-inch blade of her knife. "I cut off Anne Boleyn's head and tried to kill Pugsley four different times. He kept dodging my battle axe."

"Good job, son! We all know how good Wednesday is with her axes," Gomez cheered, stuffing a small bite of Tasmanian devil into his mouth.

"She kept interrupting me though!" Pugsley whined. "I was sharpening the spikes in the Iron Maiden and wanted to stick Uncle Fester in there for the afternoon."

HIS older brother has grown quite a bit as well, filling out in height to balance out the girth that he had bore as a child. He was nearly as tall as Lurch now and as round as Uncle Fester, his whole body curved at every angle. Despite his growing age, his face had hardly changed, still pudgy and boyish. Only his hands, as massive as they were, gave away the astonishing strength of the oldest Addams son. His fingers were as thick as a yak sausage and each palm was the size of a fruit bat's wingspan, though they bore none of the thin grace that a bat possessed.

"That is so thoughtful of you, Pugsley. You really have raised these children well, Morticia." Fester said.

Morticia nodded in agreement. "They are so loving, but Pugsley, that is the best time to practice with your sister! You are completely unaware and your mind is occupied. Of course, she would chose then to attack. It will prepare you for the future. Remember that well children, all of you."

"Yes, Mother," the three teenagers replied.

"What about you, darling?" Morticia asked, glancing at HIM.

"I spent several hours hanging from the rafters, Mother," HE mused, smiling a little as he thought about one of his favorite pastimes. "However, I spent this morning out in the swamp. There is a family of Northern Water Snakes that have nested near the bat caves."

"Oh, did they tell you anything interesting?" Grandmama asked. "Snakes always make for such good conversationalists."

"Nothing much. The female said there were strange people at the edge of our property, staring over at the house a few days ago. They haven't been back as a large group, but people from the group come once every few hours," HE said.

Morticia and Gomez exchanged a glance, both befuddled.

"How peculiar. We will have to ask them in the next time they arrive," Morticia said sweetly.

"I don't know about that, Morticia," Fester warned. "They could be dangerous!"

The kindly matriarch turned her blue gaze to her husband and smiled sweetly at him, tipping in her head in that few signature way. Setting down her knife and fork, she crossed her arms over her chest again, resting her hands gently atop each bicep.

"Dear Uncle Fester, they are probably just enjoying the splendor of this old house. You don't see many like this anyone," Gomez cackled from the other end of the table. "Besides, Cara Mía is such a wonderful hostess. I believe that they would be thrilled."

Shrugging, Fester relented and turned back to his dinner before beginning to grill Pugsley on his work with the Iron Maiden. Wednesday ate in silence while their parents made loving faces at each other across the table. HE glanced over at Grandmama Frump, who was giggling lightly under her breath. An open tome lay in her lap, revealing a painting of the drawing and quartering of Mettius Fufetius, king of Alba Longa (1). His mouth was open in a scream as the chariots pulled him apart. HE smiled a little at the gruesome nature of the painting before turning back to his dinner, his gentle grip on the knife slicing through the meat easily.

* * *

HE awoke the following morning to the sound of banging. Usually, this would not have awoken HIM as living the Addams family mansion produced all sorts of strange noises at all hours of the day and night. This sound, however, was especially strange. As HE opened his eyes to the darkness, HE could tell right away where it was coming from. Someone was knocking at the front door.

Reaching up, HE pushed on the lid that sat snugly a few inches above HIS head and slid it away. Opening the coffin, HE sat up and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as HE shrugged HIS shoulders a few times to work out the kinks. HE heard a succession of pops and stood, stepping out of his coffin in an easy grace. HIS bare feet were silent as HE padded over to the dresser and pulled out HIS outfit for the day. HE couldn't very well meet their company if HE wasn't properly dressed. No one knocked on the door or rang the doorbell of the Addams family unless they meant to stay for a while.

HIS bedroom was the smallest in the mansion and that was how HE liked it. When HE had first come to the Addams family, Morticia had allowed HIM to pick out HIS own bedroom. Without a moment of hestation, HE had picked this very room. HE had lived in a cupboard before and a room of grand size was more than terrifying to HIM at the time. HIS bedroom was just large enough for a writing desk, an armoire, and his coffin as well as well as his collection of weapons, ranging from flails and axes to swords that were longer than he was tall.

When HE had finished dressing, HE slipped into the hallway and headed for the bathroom HE shared with HIS older brother. Thankfully for HIM, Pugsley rarely used it for more than a few minutes a day, leaving the use of the room to HIM for most of the time, which HE did not mind at all.

Steeping into the bathroom, HE closed the door behind HIM and set about HIS business. Selecting HIS favorite porcupine brush, HE began to brush out HIS thick, dark hair, flipping each lock over HIS shoulder when HE was sufficiently satisfied with its sleek nature. Next, HE took to HIS teeth, brushing vigorously, but gracefully to clean every corner of HIS mouth. The Addamses may love dark and dank places, but that didn't mean their dental hygiene suffered. Lastly came HIS makeup, just some simple black eyeliner that made the green irises stand out as vibrant jewels. Morticia always said to show off your best qualities and HE was prepared to do so always.

Meanwhile, Gomez and Morticia Addams were both captivated by their guests. The couple were already awake and in the living room when the knock on the door had come, Morticia in her favorite chair knitting a sweater for a distant cousin of Gomez's and her husband smoking a cigar. Lurch had answered the door in his stoic manner, surprised to see the strange people standing in the doorway, not that it showed on the giant man's face.

The moment their guests were led into the living room, Morticia and Gomez knew that something was going to change drastically. Their guests consisted of a stern-looking woman, three men that looked to be about Morticia's age, and an elderly man with a white beard. They gazed around them at the strange décor, frowning heavily. Each of them were dressed in strange robes that reached the floor and hung loose around their arms. Morticia smiled a little when she noticed the man standing at the back of the ground, his face sullen as he grumbled something incoherent under his breath. His robes were all black and rather brooding. He certainly had a sense of style that she could agree with.

"That will be all, Lurch," Gomez said as he approached the oldest man, holding out his hand. "Gomez Addams."

"How do you do?" the elderly man replied. "My name is Albus Dumbledore and we have come here in search of someone who is very important to us all."

The dark man in the back rolled his eyes.

"Oh dear, someone has disappeared? How awful," Morticia replied. "We are willing to help in any way we can."

"That would be really appreciated. We are looking for a teenager. He would be about seventeen years old now. He disappeared when he was very young," the elderly man said, smiling brightly.

"Our children may know him then," Gomez said as he pulled a new cigar from his mouth, the smoking rising as soon as he stuck it in his mouth.

"Children!" Morticia called up the stairs.

A loud explosion rocked the house in greeting. Their guests cringed and reached into their pockets for something, but Dumbledore quickly stopped them. Footsteps echoed through the house as Wednesday and Pugsley tore downstairs, the dark haired girl following at a slower and more dignified pace than her brother. They walked over to stand next to their parents, Wednesday fixing her cold stare on the older man although her gaze flicked over to one of the younger men behind him.

He was very thin and quite gaunt. His dark hair was wavy and slightly curled, although heavily covered in grease. Heavy bags ringed his eyes as though he hadn't slept in a long time. His dark eyes had been so full of hope until she and Pugsley had appeared, dying as quickly as the children came into view.

"Mr. Dumbledore, these are our two oldest children: Pugsley and Wednesday," Gomez said, grinning widely.

"Hello, my boy and Miss Wednesday. I-"

"-He's strange, Mother. Too much color," Wednesday interrupted, sneering at his brightly colored robe.

"Wednesday, manners please. Now, where is your younger brother?" Morticia asked.

Pugsley and Wednesday both gaze up at the ceiling to indicate that he was still upstairs. Morticia nodded in understanding and turned back to their guests.

"Will you sit down and we can discuss this business further?" she offered.

"That would be lovely, Mrs. Addams," Dumbledore replied cheerfully as he took a seat on the couch.

The others of his group -apart from the dark man- took a seat around him as Morticia took residence in her whicker chair, Gomez and her children standing on either side of him. On the table beside her, Thing opened the door of his box and hopped out, racing across the table to hop down onto the floor. Wednesday was surprised to realize that none of the guests were shocked to see a Thing. That peeked her interest.

"Ah, our guests," Grandmama announced as she exited the kitchen with a tray of steaming hemlock tea. Setting it down the coffee table, she looked them each over in turn and added, "You're wpquite the interesting bunch aren't you?"

"What are they here for?" Fester asked as he strolled into the room, shuffling slightly from side to side as he walked. He had several sticks of dynamite in his hand.

"Ah, Uncle Fester! Mr. Dumbledore, this is my wife's brother, Fester, and my mother-in-law, Grandmama Frump," Gomez said, motioning to his family members.

"I hope you like hemlock tea," Grandmama cackled. "I made it especially strong, just for the occasion. We haven't had many visitors lately."

As she accepted a cup for her grandmother, Wednesday stared at their visitors with narrowed eyes. She didn't like the emotions they were giving off. Many emotions were largely foreign to her as an Addams, but she still had the ability to sense them we'll. the dark man was clearly annoyed and did not want to be there. the stern woman, despite her outer appearance, seemed concerned while the old man was pensive and calm. the two other men smelled of panic and deepseeded worry. Whomever they were looking for meant a lot to them.

"So, you are looking for someone," Morticia said after she had taken her first sip of tea.

"Yes and we need to find him as soon as possible," one of the younger man said frantically.

"Rest easy Sirius, we'll find him soon," Dumbledore soothed him.

"Especially with our help," Gomez said, "We Addamses are very good at finding lost things."

"Just like that time I lost that fire bomb in the caves below the house. I'm like a hound dog," Fester chuckled.

"Well, the young man we're looking for is of the utmost importance to us. He must be found at all costs," Dumbledore warned. "His name is Harry Potter and he is the son of some very good friends of ours who died years ago. He was supposed to be living with his mother's sister and her family, but he disappeared several years ago. We have managed to track him here, to your house, although it clearly took us a while to do it."

"You've tracked him to our house?" Morticia asked, tenting her fingers in her lap. "That is most surprising. It is just my family and I that lives here."

Snorting, the dark man snarled, "We should just give up, Headmaster. He's clearly not here anymore."

The old man turned to him and shook his head. "Not yet, Severus. Calm yourself."

"The brat is obviously long gone. We should move on and focus on actually doing something to mitigate the Dark Lord, not chasing around some brat-"

"-Don't call-"

"-Sirius, be quiet!" the stern woman snapped from her seat. "We don't need arguing right now."

The ragged man sulked in his seat, snarling something under his breath. His hands were clenched in his lap as the other younger man, a brunette, rubbed his back comfortingly. He seemed to ooze despair and anger, making Wednesday cheer inside.

"We have had many guests over the years, but not many young children," Gomez said, "Or at least those outside of the family."

"Could you at least keep a look out for him?" the brunette man asked quietly. "He'll have dark hair, green eyes, and probably glasses. I wish we had a picture, but given the circumstances-"

"Say no more, my good man. We understand. It is a terrible situation, trying to find a missing child. We should be thankful that ours never went wandering off like that," Gomez sighed dramatically.

"He didn't wander off!" Sirius snarled.

"He might as well have," the dark man, Severus, muttered behind him.

"If you say something bad about him one more time, Sni-"

"Ah, so loud. Is all of this yelling necessary?"

Everyone in the room turned to look at HIM as HE came down the steps, HIS black leather boots surprisingly quiet on the wooden steps. Mouths dropped open as HE stepped over to HIS parents. HIS long nails, sharped like blades to a fine point, shone softly in the light of the room. HE stood at what HE considered to be a respectable five foot eight, although it was small compared to HIS hulk of a brother. HIS hair had grown out to the middle of HIS back and had become more tamable with the extra length. While still thick, it was sleek and smooth, not anywhere close to the rat's nest it had been when HE was a child. HE had tied it back into a single braid except for the two long strands that hung down either side of HIS face, cascading easily down to HIS chest. With HIS pale skin, HE resembled a ghost or a corpse apart from the heavy lining of black pencil that followed the lower curve of HIS clear, green eyes.

HE was dressed in a pair of black linen trousers that hung loose around HIS thin legs and long, covering the tops of HIS boots. A tight shirt clung to HIS upper body, the long sleeves covering HIS arms all the way to the middle of HIS palms, where HIS thumbs stuck out through a single hole on the inside seam. The shirt's high collar wrapped around HIS neck all the way to HIS jaw and the bottom hem stopped at mid-thigh, gripping the young man's slight hips and legs tightly.

Standing beside HIS older sister, HE ran HIS thin fingers through HIS loose strands of hair and turned HIS gaze to their guests. They were all staring at him with wide, shocked eyes, even the dark man that had been so vocal before.

"There you are, darling. Did you sleep well?" Morticia asked sweetly.

"Of course, Mother. There is nothing better than a close casket for a restful sleep," HE replied.

Suddenly, HE was engulfed in a tight hug and HE stiffed, anger swelling up. HIS green eyes glowed as HE pushed the clinging form off of HIM, gathering HIS magic into HIS arms. With a forceful thrust, HE threw the form away from HIM, slamming the surprised man into the wall on the far side of the room.

Free of the gripping arms, HE straightened HIS back and forced down HIS anger. Running HIS fingers through HIS hair once again to straighten out any unseen kinks, HE turned to look at the man who lay on the floor several feet away, groaning softly. Giving their guests HIS best closed mouth smile, HE tipped HIS head slightly to the right and down, imitating HIS mother's favorite look. They all held thin sticks in their hands, having jumped up out of their seats and into a defensive position.

"Please forgive me for my actions. I am not used to being touched in so… intimate a manner," HE purred.

"But Harry," Sirius cried as he sat up from where HE had thrown him, "Don't you remember us?"

"Sirius," the brunette snapped, "How would he remember us? He was only a year old when we last saw him."

HE glanced down at his mother, frowning heavily. Shrugging HIS shoulders, he finished fixing HIS hair and crossed HIS arms over his chest, copying Morticia as was HIS habit.

"My name isn't Harry," HE said.

"Don't joke with us, boy," Severus snarled. "You know who you are."

"Why yes I do, but I am not Harry," HE replied.

Severus snorted at his response and muttered, "Look at him, Headmaster. He's playing with us, the little brat."

"Severus, please," Dumbledore murmured. "Be reasonable."

"No! That child has forced us to chase after him for the last ten years and when he find him, he starts pretending that he doesn't know who he is. I am tired of dealing with this, Headmaster!" Severus cried.

"If you have any complaints about my decorum, Sir, I would prefer if you addressed your grievances towards me," HE said. "I am not nor have I ever been this Harry of which you speak. I am not an Addams by blood, but they gave me a name when I did not have one before and I would prefer that you use it before giving me one of your own."

HE met Severus's dark glare evenly, HIS mouth curling up at the corners into a sly smile. Mischief lit HIS eyes aflame as HE planned all of the horrible incidents that could befall this man. He had insulted HIS intelligence and HIS integrity without an ounce of remorse or doubt. HE would just have to show this Severus who HE was: an Addams.

"Now, if you please, would you mind addressing me from hereon by my true name. Harry, while not my name, is such a plainly peculiar thing to name a child. I am Hebenon Ranseur Addams, if you please." (2)

* * *

**Like it? Love it? REVIEW PLEASE!**

(1) According to Roman mythology, Mettius Fufetius was the king of Alba Longa several years after the destruction of the original line of kings (from Aeneas and Ascanius to Romulus and Remus –the original, of course). He warred against the Romans (founded by Romulus) and betrayed the king of Rome, Tullius Hostilius. For his crimes, Hostilius had him drawn and quartered (torn apart by chariots). In case you haven't figured it out yet, I am a history major and I love me some history.

(2) I thought I should explain the origin of "Harry's" new name. Hebenon is the poison Claudius used to kill his brother the King of Denmark, Hamlet the I, at the beginning of the play. While it isn't a real poison (as there isn't anything named Hebenon) there are several theories as to the origin of the name and what the poison's true name could be, including Hemlock, a favorite food of the Addams family. A ranseur is a medieval weapon, a spear that has a similar appearance to that of a trident. It was used to trap and incapacitate enemy weapons on the battlefield as well as unseating mounted soldiers. Therefore, is both a poison and a weapon. I felt it was fitting for an Addams.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you for all of the support from my fellow Addams/HP crossover fans and other followers! I am glad that this story really seems to be taking off and I hope that you will continue to read. Now, the Addams family will be taking on more sadistic attributes as we go on, as several people have asked about this. Also, some unanswered questions will be resolved in this chapter. As well, the poll for Hebenon's future lover is up on my profile. Please vote because I am very lost as to what to do. Also for my non-Severus fans (or at least in this story), there is a valid reason for why he is included in the poll. This could turn into an ultimate Severus redemption story if he was to be paired with Hebenon further down the road.**

**REMEMBER: READ, REVIEW, REPEAT! AND POLL...?**

* * *

Chapter 3

Hebenon sat at the dinner table, staring over his glass of acid-poisoned coffee at the people assembled around him. Morticia and Gomez were sitting at the heads of the table, but everyone else had been moved. Wednesday, Pugsley, Fester, and Grandmama all sat on either side of him with their guests across from them. Everyone was silent as Lurch served dinner, Morticia and Gomez examining Dumbledore and his companions with emotionless, calculating stares. Dumbledore didn't seem to notice, but the others in his party certainly did. They were all in quite a state of shock.

Following the strange argument between Hebenon and Severus, Gomez had decided to invite their guests for breakfast, as there was clearly much to be discussed. Dumbledore had agreed for the lot of them, although Severus seemed prepared to protest. As Morticia led them into the dining room, her family assembled around her, she had stopped in the doorway and pondered the dining table. With a flick of her wrist, she magically expanded it by three place settings on each side, calling down the old bat-decorated Addams family china from the cabinet on the far side of the dining room.

It seemed that Dumbledore and his party had been unaware of the magical properties that were carried in the Addams bloodline or so Hebenon had gaged by their shocked stares and exclamations of astonishment. Wednesday had rolled her eyes as she took the seat beside her youngest brother's usual placement, Pugsley taking the one beside her as everyone else sat where they wished.

Now, they were at an impasse. No one wanted to break the silence, but the heavy cloud was looming over them all. There was the question of Hebenon and the magic that the Addams family matriarch had suddenly shown. So many questions.

When their plates were in front of them, Dumbledore sat forward and asked, "You are a witch, Mrs. Addams?"

Chuckling lightly, Morticia shook her head. "I am not quite what you would consider a witch, no. Yes, I do have magic, as all Addamses and Frumps do, and we have always been knowledgeable about the Wizarding World. We occasionally even travel into the nearby Wizarding town for supplies, but we do not actively participate in your world. Magically, however, our families go back to the years before Merlin, when magical beings roamed free and wild without restriction. Gomez is perhaps closer to what would today be considered a wizard. I, however, am closely related to the dryads. My mother herself is one."

"Wood nymphs," Remus, the brunette, murmured, eyes wide with awe.

"Aye, moon wolf," Grandmama cackled. When she saw the look of shock and terror on his face, she giggled, "We creatures can always recognize one another, well maybe except yourself, of course. You smell of the kind of poison that no creature should take."

"It is necess-"

"It is never necessary to turn one against oneself," Grandmama interrupted, suddenly becoming serious for a moment. It quickly passed and she returned to smiling widely. "Continue with your explanation, dear daughter."

"Thank you, Mama. As I was saying, I am not a full dryad nor am I fully human nor am I a witch. Therefore, I am a magical being with no category. Gomez's family, the Addamses, are descended from the Welsh bard Taliesin and his enchantress mother, Cerridwen," Morticia explained.

"Which makes the Addams family enchanters instead of wizards," Severus concluded.

Gomez nodded enthusiastically, his cigar smoking in his mouth. "Right you are! Of course, other beings have been thrown in there over the years and now you never know what is going to become of you. I ended up an enchanter, but I have cousins that are shape shifters, incubi, and all sorts of other wonderful things. Pugsley here is a Kobold!"

Their guests all glanced over at the largest of the three Addams children, assessing him. They had never heard of a Kobold as large as Pugsley.

"Well, Harry cannot remain here. He is a-"

"My name isn't Harry for the last time," Hebenon sighed in annoyance. "I don't know any Harry and I wish that you would respect that."

"If we tested your blood, it would list you as Harry Potter with James and Lily Potter as your parents, my boy," Dumbledore said, his eyes glinting.

Hebenon opened his green eyes and stared at the old Headmaster. He smiled a little, knowing that the old man was partially right. However, being only part right did not mean that the man was completely correct. Hebenon knew Kingstarter's Familial Potion and had tested it years ago.

"Regardless, he is not your Harry. He is Hebenon and I won't have you insulting my brother by calling him such a strange name," Wednesday piped up, her face frozen in one of her famous glares.

Dumbledore opened his mouth to respond when Morticia cut in.

"Why can't Hebenon remain here? He is a part of our family and he needs to be with us," she said.

"An Addams should never leave their family. Family honor and pride comes first," Gomez added.

"Ha-Hebenon was born a wizard. It seems that when he _changed_ his name, the owl addressed to Harry Potter was unable to find him. He should have been attending Hogwarts for the past six years," the Headmaster replied.

At the mention of the wizarding school, Morticia sat up straighter in her seat and a frown adored her pretty features. The stern old woman that sat beside her, whom had been introduced at McGonagall, shrunk back as the younger mother beside her seemed to grow in magical power at her end of the table. The blue eyes blazed as she stared Dumbledore down, almost challenging him to speak again. A sadistic smile grew across her face.

"Hogwarts, you say? How thrilling," she murmured, tapping her chin lightly with a clawed finger. "What do you think, darling?"

"Hold on, Har- Hebenon couldn't be expected to just drop into Hogwarts as a seventh year! He hasn't learned any of the previous material. He doesn't even have a wand!" Remus protested.

"Remus, stop being such a worrywart. Harry will do fine," Sirius protested loudly from beside his friend.

Hebenon fought down his anger and repositioned himself in his seat, hiding his annoyance. Grabbing a bat-shaped shaker from the center of the table, he doled the arsenic inside onto his breakfast. When it was sufficiently poisoned for his taste, he picked up his knife and fork, both of which were sharp and glinting dangerously before tucking into the food.

_These people just won't listen to me, will they? Then again, that man is exuding such a strange darkness, the kind that tastes good, but isn't beneficial to anyone,_ he thought as he picked at his salamander eggs and molded toast.

"Hebenon has been taught many sorts of skills and arts. Grandmama teaches the children herself. I am sure he would do just fine," Gomez said.

"The lessons taught at Hogwarts are more along the line of official magical study. He would need to know Transfiguration, Charms, and various other spells that all require a wand," McGonagall replied.

Hebenon wasn't sure if she meant to sound patronizing or not.

"My grandson is more than just your average wizard," Grandmama protested, waving her sharp, serrated knife around. She pointed it at McGonagall, then Dumbledore. "And I do not mean the way in which you think I mean."

"Ah yes, the Boy-Who-Lived, the great mystery of our time," Severus snarled, rolling his eyes, arms crossed over his chest.

"The Boy-Who-Lived? Sounds like quite the title," Gomez mused.

"Young Hebenon here defeated the greatest Dark Lord of the past fifty years when he was an infant and became the only person to have ever survived the killing curse while his parents both perished. That is why he is called the Boy-Who-Lived. However, we fear that Voldemort –that is his name- has returned and we require our savior's assistance once again. Regardless, he needs to be returned to his true family," Dumbledore explained.

"We are his family, Mr. Dumbledore," Wednesday snarled, sipping a cup of her poisoned tea.

"Voldemort needs to be stopped! He's murdered so many people already," McGonagall said with all seriousness.

The three Addams children exchanged excited glances and Hebenon grinned widely. "Sounds wonderful. Who knows, maybe we'll die as well?" he asked excitedly.

"No! You're supposed-"

"Not now, Sirius," Dumbledore murmured.

"So there is lots of death and chaos about in England these days? Good. They need a return to the old ways," Fester replied. "When can we go?"

"We?" the old Headmaster asked.

"Well of course. If we are to cause all sorts of chaos, we will have to do so as a family. My darling Hebenon is not quite done with his training in the Frump Family Chaos Magic, you see and Grandmama and I still have a few more things to teach him. When does the school year begin?" Morticia asked.

"Well, in September."

"Perfect. That gives us a few months still. We should be finished by Hebenon's birthday."

"The 31st of July, oh yes."

"Oh no, it's June 21st, the summer solstice. That was the day that we brought him here. Ah, what a lovely night that was."

"Mother gave me my first flail, not that she let me use it on anyone other than Pugsley and Wednesday for a while."

"We will need to discuss the details, of course," Fester cut in. "The family needs to make a decision about this together."

"Of course. Do you have an address at which we could contact you with our answer?" Morticia replied.

Sirius was about the snap in reply, but Dumbledore answered, "Of course, Mrs. Addams. Take as much time as you require."

While the old Headmaster seemed unconcerned, McGonagall was. What were they getting themselves into? Flails, murders, excited by chaos? Just who were these people?

* * *

That evening, the Addams family was assembled in the living room. Hebenon, Wednesday, and Pugsley were on the couch while Morticia sat in her favorite armchair and Grandmama took residence in another. Fester and Gomez both stood, as Gomez usually did during serious conversations and so Fester could pace. Even Lurch and Thing were there, curious as to how this conversation was going to go. The large butler stood in the doorway that led to the kitchen, prepared to get anything that the family may need at a moment's notice. Thing was perched on top of the coffee table, copying Fester's pacing movements along the length of the wooden table.

"Hebenon," Morticia began, "It is you decision what to do. Either you can go to England and attend school as they wish you to or you can remain here and we will make sure that those wizards cannot find you again."

"I say forget the lot of them," Wednesday said calmly, her older brother agreeing with her silently.

"But there would certainly be chaos to have. Mr. Dumbledore made that quite clear and it is almost time for Hebenon to begin causing bloody mayhem outside of the house," Gomez mused.

"That does sound quite wonderful," Hebenon replied, running his thin fingers through his thick strands of hair.

"If you did decide to attend Hogwarts, we would finish your Addams training first. You must be prepared to show the world the power of a true Addams," Grandmama said sternly.

"With the most gracious decorum, Grandmama," Hebenon smirked.

"It seems that you are leaning towards going to England, my son," Gomez said.

The dark-haired boy shrugged, his thin shoulders dramatically rising with the movement. His green eyes were cool, but they held a spark that Gomez recognized easily in his son. It was the signature Addams look, that of an impending nightmare for the outside world. Gomez smiled proudly.

_What a fine young man he has become_, he thought.

"I would like to show these wizards what an Addams can do. I won't be their little boy that they can order and kick around. I fear that the old man was the one who placed me with those strange people the Dursleys. No matter how much I appreciate the darkness they instilled in me, they forced me to live in that peculiar and horrifying house. If the o- Mr. Dumbledore- placed me there, then I wish to seek my revenge in a fashion befitting our family," Hebenon replied slowly.

"With class, blood, and screams?" Grandmama offered.

"Exactly, Grandmama," Hebenon smiled. "Mother, I do have one question. Did you know about me being-"

"-Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived?" Morticia offered. She shook her head. "No, I did not. I can only see small parts of the future, Hebenon, not the past and being Harry Potter wasn't even considered your past by the time we found you. Not even in the deepest part of your mind, the central part of yourself that once knew yourself to be Harry Potter, could you recognize that name anymore."

"I still don't like it," Fester protested. "I was the one who removed you from that horrible place. Why do you want to go back?"

"He won't be going back to that neighborhood, Uncle Fester or to those strange people. He will be in the Wizarding World. Of course, from what I've heard from Ophelia, they are an unusually cheery bunch, but it will be nothing like that house you found our dear Hebenon in," Morticia argued.

Fester snorted and shook his head, resuming in his pacing. Turning to her youngest son, Morticia tipped her head and fixed him with a sweet smile, which he copied and returned.

"If this is what you want, darling, then your father and I will support you," she said.

"That would be appreciated, Mother."

"Of course, you won't be leaving just yet and we have so much to do. Your Grandmama and I have much yet to teach you."

As his mother and grandmother began planning their newest lessons for him, Hebenon sunk into his imagination, picturing all of the bloodshed he could cause. Gleaming knifes, flying body parts, and various instruments of torture filled his mind. Ah, this was going to be fun.

* * *

"So you're really going then?" Wednesday asked him later that night.

They were up the attic, Wednesday playing with her guillotine while Hebenon cleaned and sharped his collection of cleavers and sabers. Looking up from the rapidly spinning wheel, Hebenon took in the sight of his sister as she dropped the sharp blade of the guillotine atop a new doll that she had made. With its white hair and bear, it quite closely resembled the old Headmaster.

"Yes, I am," Hebenon replied.

"Why? You haven't lived in England for so long and they clearly abandoned you to those people. Why go back for them?" Wednesday asked.

"Are you trying to talk me out of going, _mi preciado hermana_?" Hebenon teased.

Wednesday snorted and rolled her eyes, picking up her bottle of liquid anthrax from where it sat on the edge of her guillotine's platform. Taking a sip, she held it out to him and he tipped it back, gulping deeply.

"It seems like such a waste of time," she replied cooly.

"Oh, how is it a waste of time? You and Pugsley had a coming out massacre and I will have one as well. Just imagine it. I get the pick of a whole country for myself," Hebenon giggled.

"As long as you consult me first," Wednesday reminded him after a silent moment of thought. "We don't want you screwing up,_ imposteur_."

Hebenon smiled at his older sister's cool teasing.

"Of course. I would only trust your judgment on such things. Your first massacre was a beautiful sight, after all. Pugsley's had that very brutal, forceful attitude to it. Yours was far more refined and dark. I loved it."

"I got that from Mother, but don't get too far ahead of yourself, _hermanito_. You have to pass the Judgement first."

"I am not too worried about that," Hebenon replied, flicking his wrist in a movement of dismissal.

"You should never be too sure with demons. They can be quite cruel when they want to be."

"Lovely. Maybe one will kill me. Doesn't that sound just wonderful?"

"Of course, dearest brother."

* * *

It was less than a month later, on the night of June 3rd, that his mother and grandmother declared him ready for face his Judgement. The moment that he had entered the kitchen that night to see the crystal bowl and vials sitting on the counter he knew what was about to occur. The lights had been turned off and a few candles were lit, one standing at each corner of the rectangular countertop. His parents and Grandmama were dressed in their formal attire. Gomez was wearing a suit that was entirely black, even the dress shirt underneath. Grandmama was draped in a loose gown with sleeves that flowed down to her knees while Morticia wore her signature black dress. The silver and green detailing at the collar and wrists gave the dress away as her ritual attire.

A shiver of excitement ran through him as he stepped up to the counter to face his family. They all shot him smiles of support. Behind them, something was bubbling loudly in the cauldron.

"Hebenon, we have decided that tonight is the night for your Judgement. You have completed all of the steps to become an adult within our family. You are strong, cunning, and knowledgeable of our ways. It is time for you to face your demon and yourself," Morticia said, her voice calm, but full of pride.

Grandmama Frump shared a glance with Morticia, who nodded. She motioned to Gomez and with a dramatic flourish of the hand, said, "Darling, would you bring over the brew, please?"

"_Claro, Cara Mía_," he replied, turning to the bubbling cauldron behind him.

Picking it up by the blindingly hot handle, he carefully carried the cauldron over to the counter. Tipping it ever so slightly, he poured the contents into the bowl, the black sludge-like liquid plopping loudly against the crystal. Morticia set a hand on his shoulder to command him to stop and Gomez carefully set the cauldron over the fire once again.

Hebenon turned his eyes to the vials that were assembled on the table. Each one was the size of an egg, round and oval in shape. Dark mist swirled around inside the each vial, so venomously dark that if Hebenon hadn't taken so much after his mother, he would have cried at the beauty. He knew what those vials held, but he was unafraid of other people looking at the contents. Hebenon had long since accepted his past and where he had come from. He was even prepared to thank the family that had kept him for the first few years of his life. They had tried to punish him with beatings, but all their hatred did was to stir up the darkness inside him. Too bad they were dead. He had loved playing with them, but now we could sacrifice the essence of those memories to summon a demon that he hoped would be most foul.

The crystal bowl was as large around as Hebenon's forearm was long and it was mostly smooth. However, along the top rim, strange shapes stuck out from the normally flat and smooth surface, breaking through the glass-like stone to form spiked points and dangerously sharp edges. Hebenon could smell the heavy aroma of dried blood from past viewings, although it had long since been wiped away.

Morticia retrieved a long knife that was hidden in the folds of her dress. Gomez stood and stepped over to her, picking up a blade that lay on the counter as did his mother. The Addamses each held their left hand over the crystal bowl, murmuring ancient words under their breaths as the bowl began to glow a deep shade of red. In a wild flourish, Morticia, Grandmama, and Gomez all stabbed the knives cleanly through their palms, the sharp blades gleaming brightly with blood from where it exited the backs of their hands.

As the first drop of blood fell into the bowl, Morticia motioned for Hebenon to grab the vials of dark mist. Gracefully standing, the youngest Addams son collected the vials and began to pull the stoppers from each vial one at a time. Pouring the contents of whimpering and whispering mist into the bowl, he watched in fascination as the mist crystalized for a moment as it fell from the vial, melting back into a liquid form the second it hit the thick black concoction held in the bowl.

Thunder cracked loudly as the blood from the older Addamses' hands mixed with the strange dark goo and the liquid mist, a whirlpool dropping and spinning in the center of the crystal bowl. Raw magic began to pour from the bowl, spilling out like smoke from a forest fire. It engulfed them all, making Hebenon quiver excitedly. He had never felt anything so dark before.

Hebenon watched the melding and bending of magic with a wicked smile plastered across his face. It pricked at his skin, bringing goose bumps to rise along his pale form and a shiver to run down his spine. The spell his parents were using was one unseen anywhere else in the world, formed from an ancient type of magic that had been passed down in its purest form through the Frump and Addams family lines.

As Morticia, Grandmama and Gomez came to the final words, the dim lights flickered and the whirlpool in the center of the bowl began to suck in the air around them. Wind rushed back them, picking at their backs from all sides as it was pulled into the bowl. Hebenon's long braid whipped around over his shoulder, slapping against the side of his face.

Then came a loud crack and the contents of the bowl exploded out around them, rising up in a wave of black liquid that dripped red flecks of blood. The Addamses didn't move. As the wave crashed around them, the dining room of their family mansion disappeared, sunken into the darkness. It seeped up the walls and along the ceiling until he was left standing in complete darkness. Even his parents and grandmother had disappeared into the darkness. With its contents expelled, the crystal bowl began to glow brightly, serving as his only source of light.

Hebenon took a deep breath, sucking in the shadows that clawed at his clothes and whimpered at his feet. He could feel the raw energy entering their systems, shutting down each bodily system as if to bring him closer to death. It was thrilling.

"Who dare disturbs my restful sleep?" a booming voice called from the darkness.

Hebenon turned towards the voice, his smirk growing into a full out grin, his pointed teeth flashing. The air around him rippled and the shadowed ground beneath his teeth rumbled as the demon approached, its heavy footsteps making the ground shake and tremble. Hebenon's green eyes widened in awe as the demon stepped out of the shadows and looked up at him.

The demon was small, hardly standing to the height of Hebenon's thigh. She resembled a mutated vulture with five eyes that were lined up in succession horizontally across the vulture's face. Each eye was a different color, ranging from brown on one end to white on the other, and each one was fixed on Hebenon. The demon's gray feathers were largely in tatters and her tail looked like it had been caught in a meat grinder. Her beak was long and curled dramatically at the end, splotched with white and black against the normal deep tan color. The demon's feet were completely black with wickedly sharp talons that dug deep into the shadows at her feet as she examined the young man in front of her.

"My name is Hebenon Ranseur Addams," Hebenon replied confidently.

"Morticia and Gomez's youngest, no?" the demon asked. "I am curious as to why I was summoned for you. You would have to be most unstable."

"Oh yes," Hebenon said. "Grandmama says that there hasn't been anyone of as unstable a mind as me for generations."

"Hm. These memories that you offered in the sacrifice, they taste like the most potent poison." the demon mused, tasting the dark air with its black, forked tongue.

"I should hope so. They are some of my happiest," Hebenon cackled.

The demon gave him a curious stare and shifted from one foot to the other, clenching at the ground with her talons.

"What were they of?"

"When I murdered the first family that took care of me. I had Mother's help of course. Would you like to hear about it?"

The demon cawed loudly and an onyx perch popped in existence from nowhere. Leaping up, the demon settled herself onto the perch and ruffled her ruined feathers. She shook out her tail, spraying Hebenon with dark blood, which he refused to wipe away.

"Speak, child."

With a sweet smile, Hebenon began.

* * *

Meanwhile, the older Addams family members were awaiting the return of their youngest. They sat around the dining table, sipping at poisoned hemlock tea and nibbled on radioactive scones. No one had spoken since Hebenon had disappeared into the darkness of the Demon Realm, as was customary during an Addamses' Familiar Ceremony.

After all, an Addams could not use any normal sort of magical creature as their familiar. They needed something far more powerful in case their magic slipped lose of their control. The last Addams that had attempted to bond with a normal creature had killed the poor animal instantly, her power incinerating the little creature.

Morticia had brought her familiar, Cleopatra, in from the green house and Thing sat next to Gomez on the table, keeping his true master company in their silence. Grandmama's demonic alligator, Feng, lay at her feet asleep. He was an old alligator after all.

Glancing at his pocket watch and then wrist watch, Gomez calculated that it had to be close to one a.m. Their youngest had been gone for nearly four hours, which was longer than any of them had spent in the Demon Realm. Even for an Addams, it could be a dangerous place and most didn't last more than two hours. Then again, Hebenon was no ordinary Addams.

Morticia thought back on the little boy that Fester had found that cool summer evening nine years earlier. He was almost seventeen now, practically a man. He was about to receive his demonic familiar and go on his first murder spree. So much had changed.

He had come to the family a scared little boy covered in scars and bruises, the kind that not even the sadistic Addams family approved of. Parents were supposed to guide their children in how to make such wounds for the purposes of torture and murder, not to inflict them upon said children for uses of punishment. After all, to an Addams such a thing would not be a punishment, but Hebenon had not yet been exposed to the glorious side of world of darkness and hurt when he first arrived. He had seen the side of it that the strange, happy peoples of the outside world did.

Despite the warm welcome he'd received from the other Addams family members, it took Hebenon a while still to settle in. He was not used to playing with toys and the many gifts of swords, axes, and various other weapons that had been gifted to him by many of his new relatives were overwhelming. The room he'd been given, the smallest bedroom in the manor, was on the fourth floor, but he still deemed it too big. He'd slept in a cupboard before, after all. Whenever Morticia or Grandmama were preparing anything, he rushed to help them, partially from habit and partially due to a feeling of duty.

It took Morticia and Gomez more than six months to convince Hebenon that he was not their servant and forced to do chores for them that were beyond his delegated duties and another eight months more to get him to call himself an Addams by name. Surprisingly, he had taken to their sadistic games and toys quite quickly. Perhaps it was because he'd never had an appropriate toy of his own to play with or perhaps it was the darkness inside him finally finding a way to assert itself. They were still unsure even years later.

While Morticia and Gomez were proud of all of their children, Hebenon held a very special place in their hearts. He was their youngest, their baby, and the perfect mix of the two of them. He had Morticia's graceful beauty and mannerisms with Gomez's athletic abilities and cunning wit, Grandmama's mastery of potions and poultices, and Grandmother Addams's pure cruelty (whom Morticia had heard had been quite a terror in her time). Hebenon could not have exceeded their expectations of him in any better way than he already had.

Suddenly, the door to the kitchen was thrust open and all three adults quickly turned to see Hebenon step through the doorway, a wide grin on his face. He looked unharmed, his clothes neat and his hair in perfect order. Even Morticia had come out looking a little flustered. Hebenon, however, was cool, calm, and smiling, a ragged-looking vulture perched on his thin shoulder.

"Oh darling, she's beautiful," Morticia cooed as she stood and opened her arms to her son.

Rushing to his mother, Hebenon fell into her embrace, his familiar flapping wildly off of his shoulder to settle on the back of Morticia's chair. The vulture glanced around at her surroundings, taking in the décor of the room, the two other adults, and the other familiars. She squawked loudly at Thing, turning around on her new perch to stare down at the decapitated hand. Beneath the table, the demonic alligator was roused from his sleep and growled deeply before settling into a nap once again.

Pulling away from his mother's embrace, Hebenon motioned to his familiar and announced, "Mother, Father, Grandmama, meet Ballista, my familiar."

"A most fitting name, my son," Gomez cried. "She looks like she could tear anyone apart in a moment with one peck of her beak. Most ferocious and fierce, if I say so myself! She's perfect for you, son."

"I am quite lucky," Hebenon replied.

"Come, Hebenon!" Grandmama cackled. "You are an adult now with a truly dangerous familiar. It's time for the next step: drinking the greatest of all Addams poisons, the Oleander Nectar! It will make even you fall straight on your back in a fit."

"Sounds lovely, Grandmama," Hebenon replied as his vulture hopped up onto his shoulder, cawing loudly in his ear as it picked at a long strand of black hair that had come loose from his braid.

* * *

**Love it? Like it? PLEASE REVIEW AND VOTE!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** **IMPORTANT FOR THE STORYLINE AND EVERYONE MUST READ IT SO I MAY CLARIFY A QUESTION THAT WAS ASKED IN A REVIEW!**: I feel the need to clarify something. One of my great reviewers, forbidenjutsu, asked the following question: "I like it a lot but I thought fester was Gomez's brother not Mortisha". I am glad that someone asked about this because I can explain this part. I think I mentioned it in the AN before Chapter 2 or 3, but regardless, it is good to put it out there again.

There are four different actors who have played Fester in the past. The one that most people know was from the movies made in the 1990's with Angelica Huston. However, there are several discrepancies between the movies, the animated series, the New Addams family TV show, and the original TV show from 1964. While I love the movies, I prefer the version of Fester from the original show, played by Jackie Coogan. In the original, Fester is Morticia's uncle, which explains why she calls him that. Since my version of Morticia is based off the original one (played by Carolyn Jones), I felt is necessary for use the original Fester as well. That's partly why he and Gomez aren't as chummy chummy as they are in the movies. They're related through marriage.

**WARNING: References to torture and blood, but nothing really explicit.**

* * *

Chapter 4: A Quiet Night

It was the night of his first massacre. Excitement filled Hebenon as he stalked the length of a dark alley. His steps were silent as he slid along the brick wall of the building to one side of him. As usual, he was dressed all in black, although he had traded in the turtleneck and trousers for a simple outfit of a plain long-sleeved shirt and tight jeans. Matching black oxfords adorned his feet and a single silver chain hung around his neck, it's simple, circular pendant lying flat against his chest. In a hidden pocket sown into his shirt rested his favorite pocketknife and scalpel, the weapons he had chosen specifically for this special night. He didn't want to be weighed down with anything unnecessary after all.

He had yet to pick his quarries for the night, but he was far from becoming frustrated. It was barely past midnight and the night was still young. There were many young men out and about, but he certainly didn't want one that was too drunk to realize what was to happen. They stumbled about so pathetically with no sense of beauty or grace.

Hebenon wanted men who were sure of themselves and did more than stumble about. They had to be aware and conscious. Otherwise, there was no fun in the hunt or the blood or the death. It would be without the begging and the crying and the screaming and…

Suddenly, someone caught his eye just as he was about to step out into the street and Hebenon slipped easily back into the shadows. His green eyes narrowed and a smirk grew upon his pale lips as he watched the young man jog easily down a set of steps. They led up to a townhouse on the far side of the street, which was lit up with a light in each window.

The man was no more than twenty-two years old, just the age that Hebenon liked them. He had no qualms about age, but he certainly liked a male who was older than him. They were usually more fascinating, experienced, and typically liked to be dominant. Hebenon hated needing to leave behind his submissive nature, expect when killing, of course. In that situation, he liked to be on even ground.

This man was handsome with bright blond hair and clear skin. His blue eyes were bright, even in the shadows of the deep night, and he was several inches taller than Hebenon. He walked with an easy, but confident gait, and his legs were long and thin, clad in dark jeans. His chest was muscular and bulged slightly from under his shirt, a horrid pale green shade. It wasn't nearly sickly enough for his tastes.

His mother had instilled in him a desire to show off one's best assets and qualities. Wednesday showed off her silky hair by braiding it in such a lovely way while Gomez dressed in suits to reveal his dark and wonderful attitude. Even Uncle Fester highlighted his qualities, usually by wearing his heavy coats. It drew attention to his head quite nicely.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he slid out of the alley and followed the other man. The blond was a block ahead of him, casually strolling along before several others joined him in his walk. They were all chattering excitedly and catcalling at any girls that passed by. Hebenon's green eyes were alit with excitement as he slinked after them. Each of them were precisely to his tastes.

_Perfect_, he thought as they turned into an alleyway, heading past warehouses. Hebenon looked around him, examining the broken windows and the boarded up doors. He smiled sweetly, slipping from shadow to shadow and drinking in the emotions of the night. The air was cool and he could hear the faint flapping of bats overhead. There was the faint scent of dirt and dust on the breeze along with the growing emotion of impending doom.

Hebenon was beyond excited. He was thrilled and as the men ahead of him turned into one of the warehouses, his excitement grew into absolute splendid love. They almost seemed to be subconsciously planning this exactly for him.

He followed them, easily slipping in through the door, hidden behind their hulking forms. Blaring music filtered through the halls as he followed them towards the blinding lights and flickering colors. The noise vibrated in his chest and rung in his bloodstream, making him feel slightly jittery. He smiled widely as the temperature grew and the smell of sweat grew to prominence.

The hall emptied into a large room at the center of the warehouse, where gyrating bodies were melded against each other and their mouths were plastered together. Tongues danced in time to the beat as their bodies rocked and their feet shifted just so slightly. It was a sea of movement, men with men, women with women, and women with men. There seemed to be no sort of discrimination in this underground club. Hebenon's heart warmed at the equality of it all.

His prey made their way towards the bar on the far side of the room, waving to friends and acquaintances before swirling their drinks and downing them. Hebenon grimaced a little as his sharp eyes picked up the labels from across the room. None of them were poisoned. How disgusting.

Selecting a chair in a dark corner, he sat and watched his selected men for a while; senses alert as they talked, laughed, drank, and danced. They were not yet drunk and had a variety of partners. His first pick had selected a tall, but lithe dark-haired man to grind against while most of the others had found women from within the crowded room. Each selection Hebenon approved of –yet another valuable quality in his intended victims- although the women were certainly not his type. He preferred males much more.

Finally, after two hours of watching, Hebenon decided to make his move. The tall man had whispered in his blond's ear, smiling wickedly as he did so. The two men, hand-in-hand, moved towards another hallway, darkened by a lack of lighting. Hebenon slipped up behind them, his footsteps silent and his presence nearly undetectable as he followed the two men. They stopped at a doorway and the lithe man quickly opened the door, pushing the blond inside. Whispering something, he closed the door and brushed past Hebenon, heading back towards the party in the other room.

Hebenon shook his head. The lithe man hadn't come prepared. Such luck.

Quietly, he opened the door to find the blond undressing, left only in his jeans. His shirt had been tossed aside, giving Hebenon a good view of his strong, muscled back. He smiled as he slid into the room and closed the door, silently gliding up behind the taller man. The blond murmured something, not realizing that there was someone else in the room beside him.

"He left you alone, did he?" Hebenon asked.

The blond jumped and whirled around, finally spotting the much smaller form standing not a few feet away from him. Eyes widening, the blond began to chuckle, his deep voice grating against his throat. His gaze swept over Hebenon's slim body, a smirk decorating his lips. His cheeks turned upwards and his eyes lit with that mischievous glint that Hebenon so enjoyed in a man.

"Hello lovely. I didn't notice you before. Where in the world were you hiding?"

The blond tried to slip a hand around Hebenon's waist, but the younger man slipped easily out of his grasp, covering his mouth with his hand in a coy gesture. His painted fingernails –red- glinted softly as the sharp tips rested just above his upper lip. He circled the blond, his green eyes fixed on his prey as the blond continued to grin at him.

"I was hiding. I am not used to these sorts of places," he murmured, trying to seem polite and shy.

It seemed to work as the blond approached him once again, trying to wind his arm once again around the dark-haired man's small waist. Once again, Hebenon slipped away, backing towards the door. Resting flat against it, he smiled meekly and rested his right hand on the doorknob.

"That other man left you all alone," he whispered. "Wouldn't you rather leave here? I have a place nearby."

"There isn't much nearby, but rundown apartments and homeless men," the blond chuckled as he approached.

"I didn't say it was a very nice place, but it is home and I feel so comfortable there. Wouldn't you rather be… comfortable?"

Hebenon slid up to the blond, placing a clawed hand on the taller man's chest. The blond breathed deeply, pupils dilating. Smiling ever so sweetly, Hebenon backed away again and turned to show his back to the blond. There was a sharp intake of breath as Hebenon glanced over his shoulder at the man behind him and flipped his hair over his shoulder just slightly.

"Please?" he nearly moaned.

The blond enthusiastically nodded and sped towards the door. Yanking it open, he opened his mouth to speak when they were met with the sight of the tall, lithe man from earlier. He glanced back and forth from the blond to Hebenon, surprised by the appearance of the younger man. With a small smile, Hebenon approached him and seemed to almost curtsey as he lowered his chin slightly and gazed up at the lithe man through dark eyelashes.

"Would you care to join us?" he asked. "Three can be quite… exhilarating."

His plan came to fruition when the other man glanced over at the blond for a moment before nodding furiously. Finally showing his sharp teeth for the first time, Hebenon led them away with a grin. He swayed his hips slightly, knowing that their eyes were trained on his body.

_Might as well keep them interested_, he thought as he led them out of the warehouse and towards his designated killing ground. _I wouldn't want them getting away and Mother always says that it is better to be safe than sorry. Wordless spells cannot always be trusted to do exactly as you ask them to._

He seemed to glide down the street as he led them towards the apartment of his choosing. It was a rundown place, where no on asked any questions, especially not of an Addams. His father owned it after all, even if he rarely visited.

As they approached the silent building, the lights dimmed and the windows dark, Hebenon felt a shiver run up his spine. His heartbeat was slowing and his body stilled. The excitement was exhilarating and his hands tingled at the thought of what was to come. He could feel the knife and scalpel bouncing against his stomach, a slight weight in his pocket.

Slipping up to the front door of the apartment complex, he pulled a key from another hidden pocket and unlocked the door. He glanced seductively over his shoulder at the two men, giving them a little smile at which they nearly began to drool. Opening the door, he slid inside and led them up the stairs, his boots silent in comparison to their clambering steps.

Approaching the correct door, he quickly unlocked it as well and slithered inside, opening the door just a crack. The two men behind him glanced at each other, sharing a smile.

The boy was playing hard to get, eh?

Pushing the door open, the blond stepped into the main room first. It was sparse, with only a simple black couch, a coffee table, and a dining table with a single chair pushed up to it. A lamp sat atop the coffee table, its black cord wrapped around the ceramic base like a snake and a window looked down at the street below. Above their heads, a single naked bulb hung from the ceiling, uncovered and unfettered. It was painted in swirls of black and white and gray, a tessellation of waves and curves that evolved into a complex pattern of shades. A full kitchen was set up in the far right corner of the room and two closed doors led to what they supposed was a bathroom and a bedroom. Hebenon was nowhere to be seen as they closed the door behind them.

Suddenly, the locks clicked and the lights flashed to complete darkness. Both men jerked back in shock, colliding against the door. They looked around wildly, unable to see in the blackness that surrounded them. The two men stood shoulder to shoulder, terror creeping in over their surprise.

On the table, the lamp's light began to flicker, filling the room with faint, glowing light. Their eyes glanced over at the light for just a moment, watching as it grew brighter and brighter, the growing light revealing the cord wrapped around the base, unattached to any power source.

"I'm so glad you boys decided to join me," Hebenon purred from the darkness.

The two men started and whipped around to see him sitting in the previously empty chair. He was dressed in the same dark clothes as before, but his black oxfords had been removed from his feet as well as the dark socks that had been hidden underneath. The two pairs now sat beside the front door, silent and unassuming. His pale feet wriggled slightly in the cool air of the room, his skin tingling from the joyous feeling of being freed from their tight constraints. Long black tendrils of hair had been pulled over his shoulders, falling silkily across his chest. His green eyes shone softly in the mixing elements of shadow and light.

"What the fuck man?" the blond cried, his faint buzz disappearing instantly.

"What the hell is going on?" the other asked, eyes wide with fear.

Hebenon could tell that he wanted to keep looking around the room, but the terror on his face was too great. He smirked a little, drinking in the wonderful scent of distress.

"This is a very… special night," Hebenon began, grinning widely. "I became an adult today, you know? Of course, I won't be one legally for another few weeks, but that is neither here nor there."

He waved his hand dramatically in a show of dismissal, as if waving away an annoying fly. The two men in front of him glanced at each other, frowning slightly. Who the hell is this kid that had seduced them both?

"So, as any good Addams does, I am spending my first night as a true adult doing what we Addamses do best. That is why you two are here."

There was a single knock at the window and both men jumped, the tension suddenly breaking. Their eyes widened when they saw the horrifying image present on the other side of the glass. Hebenon cried happily and leapt up out of his chair, rushing to the window. Flinging it open, he stood aside as the disheveled and angry demon flapped inside, squawking in annoyance.

"What the hell took you so long?" Ballista snarled as she jumped down onto the floor, her wicked talons digging into the wood.

Sliding the window closed, Hebenon rolled his eyes and glided back over to his chair. He took his seat and fixed the demon with a small smile, his green eyes glittering. A silent conversation was exchanged. Ballista trilled uneasily as she ignored her partner and fixed her gaze on the two other men in the room.

"They're attractive, at least. I suppose that you have good taste, but they are a bit too scrawny for me. Bones and muscle are not fun to chew on after a few minutes. Impossible to bite through, really," Ballista mused.

"Well good thing I don't plan on eating them then," Hebenon laughed. "That is your job, my demon. I wouldn't have brought you all the way from the Demon Realm for you to starve!"

The two men watched his exchange with absolute horror as the two strange and otherworldly beings converses freely. One reached back for the doorknob, but as he fumbled around blindly, he found that it had vanished. Jerking back, he whipped around to stare down at the door. It was solid wood, not a metal handle or knob with which to open it in sight. Glancing over his shoulder, he flicked his gaze to the window and his eyes widened even further. The faint light from the streetlamps below was gone as the glass window had been replaced by a solid metal plate that was bolted into the wall.

"I'm terribly sorry, but you're not leaving," Hebenon said with a hint of fake sorrow in his voice. He laid his hand gently against his pale cheek and pouted. "I sort of closed us all in here, you see. No one outside can get in and you cannot get out."

"What the fuck is wrong with you, freak?" the tall man cried as the blond began to hyperventilate, panicking beside him.

As if a switch as been flicked, the soft expression on Hebenon's face vanished, replaced by pure and unadulterated glee. He smiled widely, revealing his sharp teeth, glinting white. His pale skin seemed to grow brighter and even whiter while the green shade of his eyes swirled with dark shadows. The sharpened fingernails of his right hand tapped against his cheek lightly.

"Now boy, there's no reason to be so mean. You're doing me a favor really. We Addamses aren't allowed to actually murder anyone until we're adults. I've been waiting a long time for this."

"So, you are going to kill us?" the blond asked, his voice quaking.

Hebenon began to laugh, his tone growing louder, sharper, higher.

"Of course, darlings. I hope you enjoy it. Death is such a welcoming companion."

With the help of his demonic partner, Hebenon managed to restrain the two men in separate rooms, keeping the blond in the bedroom and the lithe one in the living room. He took turns, moving back and forth between rooms to make the experience last all the longer. He worked diligently for the next few hours, enjoying the slicing of skin, flesh, veins, and organs. He broke bones, cut off toes and twisted fingers, reveling in the feeling and sense of freedom that it gave him.

When he was finished, both men's corpses –or what remained of them- were packed in boxes and the stains had been removed from the room along with any other evidence. He sat at the table in the kitchenette, sipping on a cup of hemlock tea while Ballista perched on his shoulder. Her three eyes were closed in sleep and her stomach bulged slightly from the meal she's finished a few minutes before. His fingers caressed her ripped and torn feathers gently as he enjoyed the silence following his kill.

His mind drifted back to his kills for the night. The two men in the boxes that he had sent back to the manor were only his last two. Twelve was his total for the night. He felt quite proud of himself. Wednesday, the greatest killer of the Addams family in several generations, had only accomplished eleven the year before.

Glancing out the window, he watched the sun begin to rise through the newly restored window. It lit up the clouds that covered the sky, threatening a cloudy and miserable day. How lovely.

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**Like it? Love it? REVIEW! Sorry that this was shorter than before, but I felt that since I haven't fully fleshed out Hebenon's character yet, I thought it best to introduce you all to his... more Addams-like self.**


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